“Terror in Texture”.....................................Mercer

The range of music explored here at NF falls pretty neatly into any basic indie music website’s year-end list. Even at our most esoteric, we’re still only capable of reaching /mu/core levels of eccentricity. We are pretty damn rudimentary, but what are we supposed to do about it? It isn’t our fault that we like our rock to be alternative, our pop to be indie, and our shoes to be gazed! This essay is the product of two factors: first, a request from my mother (a professional cellist) that this publication include at least one article concerning orchestral music this year. Second, a desire emerging from within myself to write about at least one piece of music that hasn’t received BNM from Pitchfork. The fact that my taste seems to be that of a basic bitch is corroding the very root of my soul, and I’ve got to prove to our readers that their Managing Editor isn’t as boring as he has seemed throughout the last two volumes. Let’s get on with it: “Become Ocean” by John Luther Adams (no, not the second president “John Adams” or the sixth president “John Quincy Adams” or the other orchestral composer, “John Coolidge Adams”) is the most refreshingly new piece of orchestral music to be produced in the current century. This isn’t another forgettable entry into the canon of modern atonality that has reigned supreme over the last 70 years. It also isn’t an excessively experimental piece of “art music” that can only be appreciated by intellectuals in dark Berlin coffee houses. The brilliance of the piece arises from the fact that there is a diverse array of per16 spectives from which to approach the piece, as well as a multitude of ways in which it can be interpreted. To demonstrate, and to get my mandatory once-per-issue citation of My Bloody Valentine out of the way, I liken “Become Ocean” to their classic song “Sometimes.” Both tracks consist of warring musical factions (amorphous vs. structured, diatonic vs. dissonant, et cetera). For example, “Sometimes” has no percussion, but its guitars are so insistently propulsive that it’s impossible to describe the song as shapeless. The same trick is used in the piece’s texture, where the harmonies are presented by two guitars: one impossibly slow and reverb-drenched, and the other choppy and bright. MBV mixes the disparate elements together in such a way that the song is fast, slow, distorted, and clear all at once. “Become Ocean” is able to achieve this same effect via deeply creative instrumentation and structure. It is scored for a relatively standard orchestra, with the only notable additions being four harps, two marimbas, piano, celesta, and a percussionist that handles bass drum, tam-tam, and suspended cymbal responsibilities. On stage, the brass, woodwinds, and strings are

separated into distinct ensembles, and each is assigned a different percussionist. The piano and timpani are placed in the center, as their action is perpetual and their lines move separately from the rest of the action. The music is 630 bars long, with each ensemble playing a different repeating motion. The brass motion is 70 bars long and is repeated 9 times. The woodwind motion is 42 bars long and is repeated 15 times. The strings motion is 30 bars long and is repeated 21 times. The dynamic contour of each motion follows a “< >” shape, meaning that each segment crescendos to a climax in volume before returning to near nothingness in a palindromic fashion. The brass motion is by far the longest, the string motion the shortest, and the woodwinds falling somewhere in between. John Luther Adams has arranged the position and length of each swell in such a way that they periodically align with one another. The strings sometimes align with the brass, the brass sometimes aligns with the woodwinds, and the woodwinds sometimes align with the strings. There is only one point in the piece’s 42-minute duration where all three ensembles climax at the same exact moment. If your stereo is up to the task, the torrential downpour of mighty brass, searing strings, and unflinching woodwinds (when heard at a high enough volume) will overwhelm your body with shivers and frisson. The piece is a perfect palindrome, and so after this central climax, the waters all slowly recede back the way they came until all three ensembles converge on the abyss. Be sure to refer to my diagram on the next page if my words were not satisfying in describing the structure of the piece. The brilliance of the music isn’t just a result of its perfectly paced structure. The careful ratios of JLA’s swells wouldn’t be effective if each individual swell weren’t musically stimulating. The composer mixes wide, rich, and slow pedal chords with rapid, consistent, and intertwining harp and marimba arpeggios, all to great effect. The shimmer of four harps and two marimbas cascading over one another is an example of the variety of ways in which the piece can be absorbed. You can sit back and let it wash over you or lean forward and try to unfold the intricate lines as they dance around and through one another. The intellectual pleasure of these technical details isn’t important compared to the way that the piece actually makes me feel. Music journalists are notorious for writing way too many sentences in the “[adjective] yet [adjective], [adjective] yet [adjective]” style. Unfortunately, this really is the best format for expressing what I’m trying to say. Never has a piece of music made me feel real fear while also instilling awe and respect for the infinite power of nature. I love how the waves grow

and grow, and just when you think the sound will crest, it grows even further until you feel like you can actually see the gargantuan tidal wave extending far above you. People who have watched the water world scene in Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar will know what I’m talking about. The central climax of “Become Ocean” would’ve been perfect musical accompaniment for the scene. This sense of terror is unique in the world of orchestral music, but not in the way you’d expect. Composers have written scary music for centuries. The pieces range from the “2spooky4me” tactics of Beethoven’s Piano Trio Op. 70, No.1 (more commonly known as “The Ghost”) to the actually terrifying strings in Penderecki’s “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima.” While pieces like these can effectively execute their intentions in stimulating frightened emotions, they all rely on dissonance and “creepy” chords as the source of their emotional effects. “Become Ocean” transcends this long tradition by creating its terror with unique orchestral tools while avoiding the traditional means of invoking terror by using dissonance. There aren’t any Jaws references or other antics: just crushing, overwhelming instrumentation and smart pacing. The sense of dread inherent to this music was certainly a goal of the composer from the outset; just read the following inscription, written by JLA, that appears inside a CD copy of the piece: “Life on this earth first emerged from the sea. Today, as the polar ice melts and sea level rises, we humans face the prospect that we may once again, quite literally, become ocean.” John Luther Adams has miraculously written a piece that conjures images of the apocalypse without using a single minor chord or dissonant interval. That is the true beauty of “Become Ocean.” But this is all just talk. In the end, you just need to hear it. Open a Spotify, iTunes, or even a Youtube (yep, it’s legally on there) browser and search the title. The piece is best when it is as loud as possible, so if you are using speakers, make sure that your next door neighbor isn’t one of those heinous “bang-on-the-walls” types that are so prevalent here at Carleton. The Seattle Symphony’s interpretation of the piece, conducted by Ludovic Morlot, is the only recording available at this time, but luckily it’s quite high fidelity and features a faithful, dynamically perfect performance from the ensemble. The piece has since won a Pulitzer Prize and the Seattle recording went on to receive numerous awards. Hopefully this newfound hype will encourage orchestras to program it into their next seasons, as I imagine that experiencing this piece live could be the highest summit that orchestral music has ascended to this side of the year 2000.